


treat you right

by sina



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild D/s, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Spanking, hockey sticks as spreader bars, kent cries a lot but he loves it, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sina/pseuds/sina
Summary: "You know, they used to torture people in China with this shit," Kent calls."What the hell do you know about torture in China?" Jeff replies."It's the principle of the thing," Kent says.





	treat you right

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the omgcp kink fest for the prompt: Not much plot, I'm just really fascinated by the idea of using Hockey sticks in bondage in place of things like spreader bars.
> 
> This is my third fic ever! I hope I did the prompt justice. I'm in Parswoops hell, and I'll be delighted if you join me.
> 
> Title is from the song "Ready for You" by Haim.
> 
> Finally, SO many thanks to blazeofglory for the beta and positive words on this. I'm confident enough to post it now!
> 
> Anyway, mind the tags and I hope you enjoy!

_Kent Parson is fucking beautiful._ That’s the only way he knows how to put it. Hair the color of cornsilk, eyes that fade from sea glass to steel depending on the light, or his mood. It makes Jeff weak in the knees just thinking about him. _And he’s way out of my league_ , he still thinks when he finds his mind wandering. Which he knows is ridiculous; they’ve been together for _how_ long, now? And Kent never treats him as anything less than royalty. Still, it’s hard to comprehend sometimes: how good was he in a past life in order to snag someone this talented, this beautiful, this humble about it all, in this life?

It’s all he can do to shake his head and try to focus on reality, some days. Other days, all Kent has to do is smile, clap him on the shoulder, and whisper, “we got ‘em, Swoops,” and Jeff feels like he can take on the world.

Such is the case the night of their playoff qualifying game. They’re tied 3-3 to the Schooners and playing their hardest, but nothing seems to be going in. Better yet, Kent gets taken out of the game with 1:35 on the clock on a tripping minor. But when Jeff looks up to the replay on the Jumbotron, he notices blood dripping from his mouth. _What the fuck?_ He spins around to face Scraps, who simply gestures back at the screen where Jeff sees a replay of the guy Kent tripped rounding back on him to punch him in the face. Kent just tries to block the punches, not one for fighting; of course, it doesn’t help much, and soon he’s spitting blood on the floor of the box. Jeff is incensed, his face reddening; he gears up to skate up to the ref, but Scraps holds him back, simply shaking his head. _It’s not worth it_ , his eyes say. “Keep a level head, man,” is what his mouth says. “We got a minute to get this thing finished, c’mon.” Jeff, still fuming, simply nods with a scowl.

He straightens his shoulders and skates forward to the faceoff. Seconds later, the puck is flying; Smith rockets it out of Aces territory and Manny intercepts, on a breakaway down the ice with the puck. He gets close to the net, but there’s no one to receive and he doesn’t have a clear shot. Jeff skates with all his might, checking at least two Schooners out of his way on the way to the net. Manny maneuvers behind the net, then saucers the puck to Jeff: Almost in slow motion, Jeff can feel the puck make contact with his stick; he can feel himself adjust; he can feel his arms swing; and suddenly, the puck’s gone five hole and straight into the back of the net.

The arena erupts in cheers and applause. Jeff looks around him at the standing fans, at the Aces players skating out to meet him in a celly, and finally, at Parse banging on the glass of the box. He still has a smudge of blood near his mouth, but the rest of him simply glows. Lastly, he glances up at the clock. There are 23.4 seconds left in the game.

They’ve got this.

He roars and pumps his fist, the celly disengaging and skating back to the faceoff ring. Jeff is on cloud nine: there’s no way this is going any way but his, and they’ll make the fucking playoffs because of him.

He could be dreaming, it’s so perfect.

All he can think about for the last 20 seconds is how proud Parse is gonna be of him. There’s honestly nothing better in the world than making his lover proud: Kent showers him with praise on a normal day, but the extra gleam of pride in his pale, jade green eyes –- the color they change when he’s especially happy -- when Jeff does something particularly praiseworthy is a sight to behold. And when the final buzzer sounds, Kent scrambles out of the penalty box to celebrate with the team. The guys all pile onto Jeff; he has to admit, he’s practically floating with glee. They’re going to the fucking playoffs. He grins, and his eyes find Kent’s: Parse is positively beaming, from his sparkling eyes to his brilliant smile, ensconced in bloody lips. Once the guys have dispersed to go thank their goalie, Mads, Jeff and Kent skate side by side at the end of the line.

“That was fucking sick, bro,” Parse said, fistbumping Jeff. Jeff is struck again with how beautiful he is, swollen lip and all. “Heh. It was all Manny,” he said, blushing slightly and rubbing his nose.

“He helped, sure,” Parse argued gently. “But that shot was fuckin’ nasty and you know it.”

Jeff let out a small laugh. “I guess if you insist.”

“Oh, I do,” Kent says. He then turns his attention to Mads, planting a goddamn kiss on his helmet. “Bro! That was madness, how many shots was that?”

Jeff just shakes Mads’s hand briefly before heading off the ice and down the tunnel. He’s slightly put out by Parse’s casualness on the ice, but appreciates the necessity for secrecy, especially in the spotlight. He muses on how he can get Parse alone after a win this big; they’re going to be expected to go out and celebrate, but he wishes he could celebrate just the two of them.

He showers briefly and runs through press as quickly as possible, crediting the team and especially Manny for his game winning goal. He waits at the sidelines of the cameras as Parse quickly dismisses the almost-fight he got in on the ice; he doesn’t go so far as to claim the trip was accidental, but he dismisses it as a momentary lapse in reasoning. This seems good enough to the interviewers, who bid him good luck in their first series in the coming weeks.

“Ugh, finally,” Parse says, when he reaches the locker room. He slumps down in front of his stall and runs a hand through his hair.

“Guys! We’re going to the Viper Room tonight, you better join us!” Scraps barges over and announces.

“I don’t know, man,” Kent says, raising a hand to his face. “I feel kinda out of it.”

“Okay, fair,” Scraps says. “But c’mon, Swoops, you at least gotta come have some drinks to celebrate! It’s your night, bro!”

Jeff hesitates. “But someone should bring Parse home and make sure he gets there safe, you know?”

“Fine, drop off the party pooper and then come out with us,” Scraps insists.

Jeff steals a glance at Kent. “You sure you don’t wanna come out?” he asks. Kent shakes his head gently.

“I can’t pick up with a fat lip, so, nah.”

“I’ll take you home, then,” he says, and Parse does a fist pump at his victory.

“You’ll come out after, right?” Scraps begs again.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Jeff says, distractedly inspecting Parse’s lip from afar.

In that instant, Scraps realizes he’s late and calls out, “Good! I’ll see you there, we’ll get a VIP booth no problem,” as he scurries off to exit the locker room.

“Great,” Jeff mutters as he sits next to Kent.

“Hey, babe,” Parse finally says, now that they’re alone.

“How’s your lip?” Jeff asks gently.

“It’s fine, actually,” Parse says, shoving Jeff lightly with his shoulder.

“I just didn’t really want to go out. I have… other plans for us, if you’re interested?”

“Maybe,” Jeff says coyly, secretly giddy that he wasn’t the only one thinking about celebrating alone with Parse. “What other plans?”

“Drive me home first?”

******

Jeff’s so full of energy that he feels high as he walks Parse in to his apartment. The feeling seems mutual, since as soon as the door clicks shut, Parse leaps into Jeff’s arms and squeezes him tight.

“God, I can’t believe you. How can you be so calm after a game like that?” Parse questions giddily. “That was so solid!”

“I’m actually freaking out,” Jeff responds with a laugh. “Just, you know, on the inside.”

Kent squeezes him tightly once more, and then lets himself down to the floor. “You got anything to drink?” Jeff asks, stretching his arms. Kent’s small, but he isn’t exactly light.

“Actually, that reminds me,” Kent says slyly. “I had an idea for how we can celebrate tonight. Kinda wanna do it sober, though, if you get my drift.”

“Oh, really?” Jeff says, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall to the kitchen. “What kind of celebration?”

“Shush, it’s a surprise,” Kent says, eyes glinting. “How about we play a little game first?”

“Ugh, Parse,” Jeff groans. “You know I hate games.”

“You won’t hate this one, I promise,” he responds coolly.

“Well, if you promise,” Jeff says, his tone mocking, yet the smile that plays on his lips is kind of sweet.

“In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re gonna love it.” Kent crowds into Swoops’s space again. “In _fact_ , this is the perfect way to reward you for your game-winning goal tonight.” He places his hands on his hips and steers him out of the main room and towards the bedroom. When they reach the bedroom, Kent sits Swoops down on the edge of his bed.

“Okay, just a second,” he says, turning to rummage through his dresser drawers. He returns bearing a blindfold.

“Ooh,” Swoops croons. “A little sensory play tonight? Is that what you’re planning?”

“Not quite,” Kent replies with a small smirk. “I’m gonna put this on you, and then I’ll be right back.” Jeff sighs as Kent ties the blindfold, tight, over his eyes. He can’t see a thing. He really hates games.

“Okay, I’m leaving now,” Parse announces. “Sit tight for me, be a good boy.”

Swoops chuckles at that. He listens intently, trying to figure out what Parse could possibly be doing. He’s left the room, so it’s not going to be a striptease or a lap dance, probably, he surmises. _What else, what else?_ He wracks his brain for an answer when he hears Kent return.

“Okay, stand up real quick,” Parse commands. Jeff does, and hears a number of objects fall onto the bed. He hears some more rummaging and banging sounds to his left. Parse piles the rest on the bed. “Now turn around,” Kent says, grabbing his shoulders and easily angling him to face the bed. “Okay, blindfold off,” he says, unknotting it and letting it fall from Jeff’s eyes.

Jeff takes stock of everything in front of him on the bed. There’s the usual play equipment: handcuffs, an equestrian whip, some bamboo shoots. And then there’s some stuff he doesn’t understand: a pointy wheel on a stick, something that looks like a leather ponytail, some hockey equipment, and a fucking enormous cucumber.

“A cucumber?” He questions incredulously. “What the hell, Parse. A cucumber?”

“Yeah!” Parse quips. “I saw a thing online, and you know what a size queen I am, and –“

“Babe, you’re great, but I am not going to fuck you with a cucumber.”

“Why not?” He whined.

“You know fucking with food is dangerous,” Swoops says, crossing his arms with finality.

“Don’t kinkshame me!” Parse yells.

“There’s no base on it, and I’m not getting a giant cucumber stuck in your ass before playoffs. No cucumber. And, if it doesn’t go in your ass, we can eat it later,” Jeff replies authoritatively.

“Don’t even like cucumbers,” Kent pouts.

“I’m serious. I will use whatever you want on this bed except the cucumber.”

“Well, that’s not the point,” Parse says. “It’s your pick. That’s the game.”

“Ah,” Swoops replies. “Well, now that we’ve established no cucumbers…” He leans over the bed and picks through the equipment he sees there. “What’s this?” He asks, holding up the pointy wheel.

“It’s for sensory play,” Parse says. “You can use it lightly for little pricks, or really heavy to draw blood.”

“Ehhhhhhh,” Swoops says, putting it back. He’s not sure how he feels about drawing blood. Luckily, Kent lets him take his own pace, and doesn’t seem to want to press anything in particular, forget the food sex.

“I know you haven’t dommed a lot,” Kent interjects quietly. “I can help you along, if you want, but the idea was that you get to celebrate by having me any way you want me. I mean that. If you just wanna go vanilla, we can do that too. It’s all up to you.”

“Thanks,” Swoops says, and he means it. “I might not get really dominant tonight. We'll see. What’s with the hockey stuff?”

“For getting creative,” Parse says with a wry smile. “Also, I just had a ton of it lying around and thought, why not.”

“Hmmm,” Jeff says, thinking. He picks up a balled-up pair of socks and considers. He thinks of maybe gagging Parse with them, then changes his mind: he likes hearing all the noises Kent makes when they play.

Kent watches patiently while Jeff scrutinizes the collection of toys and tools on the bed. Jeff picks up the knee pads and looks at Kent with askance.

“Oh,” Kent says. “You know my knees are shit after that hit in ’15. I figured, if you wanted me on my knees, maybe you’d be merciful and let me have them as padding.”

“You know I can’t hurt you that badly on purpose,” Swoops chuckles. He really isn’t much of the sadist type to begin with, though he loves seeing Parse light up the way he does when he’s in just the right type of pain. It’s a tough balance to strike, but Swoops thinks he’s getting the hang of it.

Finally, Jeff picks up a hockey stick. There are three on the bed, and he figures, _Yeah, I can get creative with these_. “Kent, help me clean off the bed,” he says.

“Ooh, commanding,” Kent coos. “I like this side of you.”

“Stop it or I’ll smack you,” Jeff warns.

“Oooh, wouldn’t want that,” Kent responds mockingly, grabbing the toys on the bed and moving them to the top of the dresser. He leaves the hockey equipment on the floor. As Kent turns away, Jeff takes the stick and smacks it against his ass. Kent yelps, more out of surprise than out of pain, but he’s glowing bright red in the face and gulping when he turns around.

“God, I love how easy you are,” Swoops comments with a grin. “Strip for me, baby. Leave your boxers on, though.”

Kent does as he’s told, making a little show of it as he slides gracefully out of his suit. He dips his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, sliding them down the tiniest bit, the tease.

“Get on the bed. Stomach down,” Jeff commands lightly. He has an idea of what he wants to try first. Kent bellyflops onto the bed, but turns so he faces Jeff, holding himself up on his right arm.

“Safewords,” he breathes. “Same as always?”

“Stoplight,” Jeff agrees. “Green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop?”

“Yes, yeah,” Kent huffs, a smile playing on his lips.

“Any other rules?” Jeff questions.

“Nope. Any way you want me,” Kent insists. “It’s your victory reward, babe. I’m your captain, and what I say goes.” Jeff tries to quieten the thrumming in his heart, to no avail. He exhales sharply.

“Okay. But remember the stoplight colors. And if you don’t look like you’re having fun, we stop, no arguments.”

“You got it, babe,” Kent says, finally relaxing onto his stomach. And with that, a resounding THWACK rings out from where Jeff smacks Kent’s ass with the stick. Kent squeaks and tucks his head down between his shoulders, clenching his whole body for a split second.

When he relaxes, Jeff asks, “Color?”

“Green,” Kent says, peering over his shoulder and wiggling his ass. It should not be as cute as it is, Jeff thinks, but he can’t help what Kent does to him.

THWACK. THWACK. Jeff maneuvers the stick from one hold to the next, not exactly holding back despite Kent constantly clenching after each hit. THWACK. This time Kent buries his face into the meat of his bicep, biting down hard so his cries won’t be heard.

“Nuh uh,” Jeff says, raising the stick to Kent’s head. He nudges his cheek with the blade, then pushes up ever so lightly. “No hiding. I want to hear every little noise you make.” Kent nods, his eyes watering. He faces forward again, much to Jeff’s dismay. “Babe,” Jeff coaxes. “Will you look at me for the next one?” Kent twists around so his face points at Jeff, nodding still. Jeff takes note of his glazed eyes. “Babe, I need a color.”

“Um. Yellow.”

“All right,” Jeff replies soothingly, sitting down next to Kent on the bed. He takes Kent’s chin in his hands and lays a gentle kiss on his still-swollen lips. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kent nods enthusiastically. “I just needed a second. I should be good to go now.”

“Not too fast,” Jeff reprimands him, but he does lean down to caress Kent’s ass over his boxers. “Mind if I take these off?” Kent shakes his head. Jeff stands, taking the hockey stick back in hand, and probes under the waistband with the tip of the blade. “This okay?” He asks.

“Green,” Kent responds.

Jeff moves his hand closer to the blade for more control, then maneuvers it so that he can slide the boxers down over his ass. “Oh, god,” he says soothingly, caressing the skin with the lightest touches. “Kent, you’re so red.”

“That’s kind of what happens, dummy,” Kent points out, but soon he’s yelping again as Jeff smacks him with his hand. “Rude,” Jeff remarks. Then, he notices where the hockey stick got off to: it’s resting on the back of Kent’s knees in a line perpendicular to his legs. “Wait a minute,” he says. “I have another idea.”

“What is it?” Kent asks, looking over his shoulder again. “If it’s more spanking, I’d rather your hand than the stick, cause it’s really hard and–“

“No, not more spanking,” Jeff says. “Something completely different. Where’s your rope?”

“In the middle dresser drawer,” Kent says, gesturing with his arm. “Use the purple jute set, it’s clean.” Jeff scrambles to the side of the bed and grabs the kit of rope.

“This is gonna be great,” he murmurs. Kent raises an eyebrow questioningly. “I thought of a better game than yours.”

“Better than picking what you get to fuck me with? That’s the best game,” Kent defends himself. “I’d like to see you come up with something better.”

“Ah, but I have,” Jeff teases. “Can you get on your back for me? Knees in the air.” Kent flips over and scoots his feet back so his knees rise into the air. The hockey stick flew off in the process, so Jeff kneels down to fetch it. “Okay. Do you wanna know what the game is?” Jeff asks.

“Sure, hit me,” Kent says. He winks.

“Maybe more later,” Jeff says with a smirk to rival Parse’s own. “First, I’m gonna put this stick between your legs, and you’re gonna hold it up behind your knees. No hands.”

“Like a spreader bar?” Parse asks, his interest piqued. “Exactly,” Jeff says, clapping condescendingly.

“Shut up, you goon,” Kent says with a grin. “Teach me the rest of the game.”

“I’m going to ask you questions, and for every answer you get wrong, I’m going to bind your legs further apart. Okay?”

“What kind of questions?”

Jeff thinks for a minute. “Hmm. How about questions about… me? See how well we know each other.”

“Well, it hardly works that way if you’re the only one asking questions –“

Jeff slaps Kent on the thigh. “Shush. You said I could have anything I want.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying –“

“Don’t argue semantics with me unless you want me to go party and abandon you,” Swoops threatens. That gets Parse to shut up immediately. Jeff smirks at him. “Good boy.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Jeff takes the bite of the rope, pulls the length taut, and goes about establishing his ties and knots around Parse’s legs and the hockey stick between them. “I’ll just do a loose first bind on your left leg, so we can stretch you out when you get answers wrong and tighten it when we’re done.” He finishes tying, and slides Kent’s leg along the stick to check the tension.

“Can we get started, then?” Kent wriggles in his bind, anxious to show Jeff how well he knows him. He thinks the game will be a flop, but they can always find something else to do later.

“Okay, let’s start simple,” Jeff says with a grin. “What’s my favorite color?”

“Easy, red,” Parse rattles off with an eyeroll.

Jeff makes a beeping sound. “Wrong! It’s gold.” He nudges Kent’s knees a few inches further apart and tightens the rope around them that way.

“That doesn’t count, it’s a metal!” Parse objects. Jeff glances at him with furrowed brows, and jerks his knees further apart still. He ties the rope a bit tighter, too. “That hardly seems fair,” Parse argues.

 

“My game, my rules,” Swoops states. He stands back up and crosses his arms. “Question two,” Swoops says, holding up two fingers. “My favorite date with you.”

“Uhhh,” Parse says, his eyes flicking up, searching through his thoughts. He snaps his fingers and sits up. “The Ripley’s Aquarium we went to in Myrtle Beach on that roadtrip!”

“Very good,” Swoops smiles, patting Kent on the knee. “See, this doesn’t have to be unpleasant. Just answer nicely, and don’t misbehave.”

“Easy for you to say,” Kent says, flopping back down onto the bed. “Okay, hit me. Question three.”

“Question three,” Swoops begins. “Where was my favorite vacation as a child?”

“Uh, Michigan,” Kent guesses.

“More specific,” Jeff coaxes. “Where in Michigan?”

“Uhhh. Mackinac Island?”

Jeff makes the beeping noise again. “Wrong again. Bayview.”

Kent snorts and mutters, “bougie asshole,” which earns him an extra few inches of spreading on the stick.

“Question four,” Swoops says after he finishes tying Parse up. “What’s my favorite Disney movie?”

Kent actually takes a moment to ponder this one. “Can I have a hint?”

“Sure. It’s not a princess movie.”

“Damn, that barely helps at all,” Kent murmurs. He thinks for another moment, then snaps his fingers again. “I got it! _Moana_.”

“ _Moana_ ’s a princess movie,” Swoops says condescendingly, as if he’s talking to a drunk four-year-old.

“No, it’s not,” Kent insists. “She’s not a princess, she says so like four times!”

“Fine,” Jeff concedes. “I’ll give you one more chance, but it’s not Moana who is, despite what you think, a princess.”

“Not a princess,” Kent mutters.

“What was that?” Jeff asks. “Your legs aren’t stretched far enough? Well, let me just fix that up real quick!” He grabs Kent’s knee and moves to jerk it further down the stick.

“No, no, stop! Sorry!” Kent shouts. “Your favorite Disney movie is _Mary Poppins_!”

“Wrong again,” Swoops declares, mercifully forgoing the beeping noise this time. “It’s Pocahontas, you dingus.”

“Pocahontas is a princess!” Kent argues. “She’s the daughter of the chief!”

“So is Moana, so _by your own logic_ , Pocahontas isn’t a princess.”

“You cheat. You’re a cheater,” Kent whines as Swoops gathers the rope around his knee and stretches his legs further apart, tying the knot again at the end. Jeff goes extra far this time, probably because of Kent talking back. He keeps his mouth shut but grumbles while he watches Jeff adjust his knees.

His legs are now a good two and a half feet apart, which isn’t bad, really, considering he can do splits as well as Mads if he warms up enough, but his legs are getting sore after already playing a hard-won game tonight.

“Hey, babe,” Parse says, sitting up again. “How far are you gonna go with this?”

“Depends,” Jeff replies. “Are you gonna give me a color?”

“Green, but – just don’t, like, rip me in half, okay?”

“Okay,” Jeff says, leaning over the stick to kiss him gently. “Just remember to tell me if I go too far, all right?”

“All right,” Kent says, getting ready to lie back down.

“Wait,” Jeff says, another spark of inspiration lighting up his eyes. “I have another idea.”

“Hmm?” Kent questions. He knows he committed to doing whatever Jeff wants – he’s just curious. That’s all.

Definitely.

“We skip the rest of the game –“ Kent nods enthusiastically “—and I tie you how I want you –“ Kent nods even harder “-- and then I fuck you, so hard you can’t breathe.”

“Green,” Kent nods. “Green-green-green.”

One thing he didn’t anticipate was just how wide Swoops planned to keep his legs. It’s all he can do to lie there and breathe with the stretch, big gulps in and big gusts out while Swoops pries his legs apart as far as they will go, and then some. Swoops binds him there, _oh god tight_. “I’m gonna flip you over, okay?” Jeff suggests, gathering Kent’s body in his arms.

“Okay,” Kent says, and breathes in before Jeff flips him on to his stomach and drops him, bouncing, onto the bed.

“Get on your knees,” he demands shortly after, and Kent wobbles slightly as he lifts himself to complete the request. He kneels with the hockey stick behind his knees, legs spread wide, arms out to balance himself. Swoops, meanwhile, rummages through the toys on top of the dresser and withdraws the handcuffs abandoned earlier. “Give me your hands.” Kent does just that, and Swoops maneuvers them so they’re flat on either side of the spreader stick. He then handcuffs Kent so that his hands, like his knees, are bound to the hockey stick between his legs. “Now sit.”

He sits too fast and yowls out in pain, the bar of the stick pressing into the delicate backs of his knees. Blood pulses through his legs, giving throbbing pressure to the places where he’s tied, especially deep pressure on the sections of leg wrapped around the stick. “Good,” Swoops compliments. “So good, Kent. Color?”

“Green,” Kent says through a sniffle, tears gathering again in his eyes. “Oh my god, ow.”

“Could you hang on a sec? I think I need a glass of water,” Jeff says with a teasing tone.

“What, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” Kent blurts out.

“I’m not hearing a different color,” Jeff singsongs over his shoulder as he enters the ensuite. He turns the tap and lets the water run for a second before grabbing Kent’s toothbrush glass, pulling out the toothbrush to fill it.

“You know, they used to torture people in China with this shit,” Kent calls.

“Still not a color,” Jeff retorts. He turns back into the room and sets the glass on Kent’s end table. “And what the hell do you know about torture in China?”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Kent says. “And also, green, but like, I’m getting close to the end of this being okay.”

“I’ll take that as a yellow,” Jeff replies. “Hang on one sec.”

“If you’re gonna make me wait again, I swear to god, Swoops –“

“No, no, I’m just trying to figure out where I want you. Like, logistically.”

It’s an absolute godsend that Kent’s boyfriend is huge, massively muscled, because no one else would be able to lift Kent up and on to the edge of the bed like this. Kent’s leaning up to where his hands remain cuffed, sitting on the bed, his feet perched on the edge of the comforter.

“Okay, great,” Swoops remarks. “Are you cozy?”

“No,” Kent gripes. “These cuffs are digging into my wrists and it hurts.”

“Hush,” Jeff chides him. “Give me a second.”

It’s the quickest striptease Parse has ever seen, but he knows to appreciate it nonetheless. Jeff is often too awkward to give Kent anything of the sort, so he knows to take what he’s given and enjoy it. He shimmies out of his game day suit in record time. All too soon, Jeff is standing in front of Kent and easing him down onto the bed. He kneels between Parse’s legs and looms over him, grabbing the hockey stick and bending his legs further and further back, until Kent’s practically bent in half.

“Color,” Jeff whispers, his eyes half lidded and full of lust.

“Green,” Kent breathes, and soon Jeff’s lips are on his.

They make out in a frenzy, all regard for Parse’s injured lip out the window. Jeff bites Parse’s lip and he lets out a low groan, one that goes straight to Jeff’s dick. It’s then that the bright, acrid taste of copper leaks into Jeff’s mouth. The metallic spark grasps at his attention. He pulls away suddenly and tries to focus on Kent’s face. He realizes that he split open Parse’s injured lip, and there’s blood shining on his mouth and his teeth.

“Oh, babe,” Jeff remarks, leaning up and lessening the pressure on the stick. “Let me get you a-a, a towel or something –“

“No, no, don’t,” Parse interrupts, the handcuff chain clattering where he strives to move his hands. Where he would grab Jeff if he could. “Keep going, come on, green, green –“

Jeff simply shakes his head, incredulous, and dives back in. He knows they must look horrific, mouths covered in blood, but can’t find it in him to stop kissing Parse again. The metallic taste surrounds his senses.

Kent finally makes a muffled sound and Jeff backs off to let him have some air. Kent closes his eyes and breathes deeply. The wound still blossoms with fresh blood among the saliva coating Kent’s mouth. Jeff runs his fingers through it, wiping the blood away, but Kent, in a moment of strength, crunches himself up to suck Jeff’s fingers into his mouth. He sucks hard, sticking his tongue out to coat them with saliva as Jeff watches, astonished.

“You know what I have to do with these, now,” Jeff says, almost like a warning.

“Why do you think I licked so much?” Kent asks, a brusque smile on his face. “Do it, babe.”

Jeff adjusts himself so he can reach a hand down to Kent’s entrance. He circles it briefly before dipping the tip of a finger in, teasing Kent with the lightest of touches. He gradually slides it further in, then adds a second, though the slickness doesn't last. “I feel like spit’s not gonna be enough for this, babe.”

“Lube’s in the end table,” Kent supplies helpfully, breath hitching.

“I’ll be right back,” Swoops promises. When he returns, lube in hand, he has another revelation. “Wait, wait, I have the best idea,” he says. “Babe, I’m gonna eat you out, let me scooch you closer –“

“No,” Kent says.

“C’mon, baby, it’ll feel so good for you—“

“No, no, red,” Kent says hurriedly.

“Oh. Wow. Okay. Do we need to talk?” Swoops asks, abashed.

“No,” Kent says simply. “I just wanna kiss you during.”

“Ah,” Swoops says. Ass-to-mouth is one of Kent’s hard limits. “Okay, whatever you want.”

“Oh, fuck, sorry. I’m sorry, this is supposed to be whatever _you_ want,” Kent rushes out. “You can eat me out if you want, babe, don’t listen to me.”

“No, Kent, that’s not how this works,” Swoops responds, gentle. “I want you to have fun too. That’s why we use the safewords and talk during and everything. Are you okay to keep going? I’ll just open you up with my fingers.”

“Okay,” Kent breathes. “If you’re happy with that, I am too.”

“I’m so happy right now, you wouldn’t believe it,” Swoops replies, smiling from ear to ear.

He makes quick work of opening Kent up, as Kent heaves beneath him. Kent feels so full and abused, his ass burning and his knees aching where the rope bites into his flesh. He’s absolutely giddy with pleasure from it all. It takes a lot of deep breathing and focus not to come; he waits with diminishing patience for Jeff to finish already.

“Okay,” Jeff says, slapping Kent’s thigh to alert him. “Are you ready?”

“So ready,” Kent moans. “Give it to me, please –”

“Oh, fuck, I forgot a condom.” Jeff mentally slaps himself as he gets up to head back into the bathroom, his hardness hanging between his legs.

“Don’t,” Kent calls after him. “Don’t worry about it, just get over here.”

“You sure?” Swoops clarifies quickly, already returning to the end of the bed.

“So sure. Please just fuck me already, I’m dying here,” Parse groans.

Jeff doesn’t take his time any longer. He crawls on to the bed, and shoves Kent further up to rest his head on the pillows. He deserves a little comfort, Jeff thinks. And all too soon, he’s inside him, drinking in Parse’s groans desperately.

Parse already has a dark dusting of pink high on his cheeks and chest, but he glows in the duality of pain and pleasure as Jeff presses again on the hockey stick. Kent’s legs stretch further and further back, until again, he’s almost bent in half, arms folded under his legs. Jeff leans heavy on the stick as he thrusts, filling Parse with giddy pleasure and compounding it with the pounding blood in his legs, his ears, his heart. With such sensory overload clouding his concentration, it doesn’t take long for him to come, long stripes coating his abdomen and Jeff’s hands.

Jeff swears and continues thrusting, hoping Kent can handle a little overstim as he rushes to climax.

Parse whines, suddenly. “Jeff,” he says. “It hurts so much. It hurts so good, Jeff, I feel so much,” he groans, and his eyes roll up as his lids slide shut. He simply pants, grunting occasionally, as Jeff buries himself deeper and faster.

“No, no,” Jeff pouts. “Keep those eyes open, look at me,” he commands.

Kent’s eyes jolt open as he does what he’s told. They glow a pale blue, reverent as they connect with Jeff’s. They’re glossy with tears, being all bent up and tied finally taking its toll on him.

“You’re so good,” Jeff whispers, still thrusting. “You can take anything I can give you and you’re so beautiful the whole time you do it. I’m amazed by you, baby.”

Kent sniffles and nods, then yells out as Jeff’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. He breaks eye contact momentarily to clench his eyes shut and huff out a breath. When he opens them, he sees the sincerity on Jeff’s face, and manages a grin that squeezes the tears out of his eyes.

“Oh, baby, don’t,” Jeff pauses and leans up to kiss the tears on Kent’s cheeks. “I’m almost there, baby, I promise.”

True to his word, he climaxes just moments later with a rushed curse and a gasp. He pulls out just in time and splatters all over Kent’s already-dirty stomach. He finally lets go of the stick and lets Kent stretch out, as much as his binds will let him.

“Babe,” Kent says. “Take all the time you need, but please get me out of this as soon as you can.” He sniffles, though quietly, as if determined not to let Jeff hear it.

Jeff nods and, though spent, immediately unlocks the handcuffs, pulls the knots apart, and frees Kent’s legs, rubbing them gently to get blood flowing. He wraps the rope back up and ties the bundle up, dropping the whole thing to the floor. He’s exhausted, but he knows better than to break his toys.

Not that he thinks of Kent as a toy. Kent looks pretty as a picture, Jeff thinks, despite the tears, despite the sweat, despite the marks from the rope the handcuffs, the blood that has trickled down his chin and dried there. And Jeff loves him. Not that he’d say it out loud. Not yet.

“Can you get me a washcloth?” Kent asks, wiping his face now that his hands are free. “And maybe a tissue, too?”

“Of course,” Jeff says, jumping up to run to the bathroom to get Kent’s things. “Thanks, Swoops,” Kent says as he sits up and cleans himself off.

“Here, let me get that,” Jeff says, grabbing the towel and gently cleaning the come off of Kent’s stomach.

“Thanks again,” Kent replies, face now dry. He tosses the tissue into a trash can by his bed, and Jeff leaves the towel on the floor.

“What can I do for you?” Jeff asks.

“I’m okay,” Kent says dismissively. His eyes still shine with the remnants of tears, rimmed in red to match his bitten lips. “It’s still your night. What do you want?” The marks from the handcuffs and the ropes glisten an angry red, and Jeff gathers Kent’s hands together so he can lay gentle kisses on the bruises that promise to bloom there.

“I want to take care of you,” Swoops replies, softly but assertively. Kent shivers and stretches his legs. “What do you need?”

“Um,” Kent says, rubbing a hand on his face again. “Could you, maybe… could you just snuggle with me for a bit? And kiss me and stuff?”

“Of course,” Swoops replies. He shifts Parse forward so he can fluff the pillows, then gently leans him back so he’s surrounded by softness.

“Oh, wait,” Kent says, brightening. “Can you also grab me some of the peach juice I really like from the fridge? And some ice.”

“Oh dang, yeah,” Swoops says, immediately dashing down the hallway to retrieve them. He even remembers to grab a straw for him, just the way Parse likes it.

He returns to the bedroom and slides on the bed, drawing the blankets up to their waists. He lays the ice across Kent’s knees and hands him the bottle of juice as he adjusts the bedspread, then wraps his arms around him and holds him close.

“Is this good?” he asks.

“The best,” Parse replies. He sips slowly at his juice, Jeff laying soft kisses on his forehead and cheek, until the small bottle is empty. He twists around to set the bottle on the side table, then leans back to snuggle into the pillows. It’s then that Jeff gently holds Parse’s chin, directing his face so he can kiss him softly on the mouth. He’s extremely careful this time not to disturb Kent’s wound. “Thank you,” Kent says on an exhale when they separate.

Jeff kisses his forehead again. “After what you gave me tonight? Anything,” Swoops breathes.

“I love you,” Kent says, snuggling up into the crook between Swoops’ shoulder and chin. He suddenly stiffens, and starts to back away, and says, “Wait, I mean—"

“I love you, too, Kent,” Jeff interrupts. He squeezes Parse tighter so that he will lie back down on Jeff’s shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

He does.

“God, I sure picked a fucked up time to say it,” Kent murmurs.

Jeff chuckles as he shakes his head, then Kent asks, “How long have you known?”

Jeff sighs. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve always been in love with you.”

Kent laughs. “That’s so cheesy.”

“You know I love cheesy,” Jeff says, nudging him slightly.

“I know. You know I love it, too.” Kent winds his arm behind Jeff and around his waist.

“How are you feeling?” Jeff asks, planting another kiss on Parse, this time on his nose.

“Perfect,” Parse says, stretching his legs again under the sheets.

“This night was perfect,” Jeff agrees. “You’re perfect.”

Parse swats at him. “Okay, enough, enough.” He laughs, though.

Jeff just smiles. He’s so happy that he drifts off to sleep with his arms surrounding Kent.

 

He doesn’t even bother to address all the messages from an angry Scraps waiting on his phone the next morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ lvmi.tumblr.com. we can scream about Kent Parson together.


End file.
